


You'll Bury Me

by Azereaux



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28486212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azereaux/pseuds/Azereaux
Summary: "The first petal that falls from his mouth does not bother him. Neither does the second. Hubert spits them out the window into the bushes below so it does not wither and brown on his study’s floor."Hubert knows he is dying.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 7
Kudos: 89





	You'll Bury Me

**Author's Note:**

> I like this trope a lot so I wanted to try writing it :3  
> Done is better than perfect *screaming intensifies* though this turned out to be quite experimental with my writing, so please bear with me!
> 
> General warning, this story has the usual that comes with hanahaki: depictions of illness, acceptance of death/dying, mentions of blood

The first petal that falls from his mouth does not bother him. Neither does the second. Hubert spits them out the window into the bushes below so it does not wither and brown on his study’s floor. He understands what this means — but he is only human, and knows he will die regardless if it is from old age or from love.

He removes the petals left sticking to his tongue, and as they land in the bushes he notices they are white, little rounded things. And after one last dry cough — when he is only left with a burning in his throat — Hubert shuts the window closed. He goes to his desk to drink from what remains of a coffee, forgotten overnight and now cold, to help mask the flavour of a tea he does not enjoy.

He has read about this in a medical textbook some odd years ago aptly under lovesickness. A sickness that — while still rare — is more common among users of magic from how energy flows in their bodies. Suppressed words build up in the vocal cords until forming into a treacherous seed that becomes too heavy and falls down into the lungs. Bottled emotions water the seed until it sprouts and blooms. The one cure, a confession, isn’t even an assurance if they do not love you back.

It is a silly illness, and his views still do not change even when he wakes up one day gasping for breath with a new pain in his lungs. When he coughs, Hubert tastes metal between his teeth, and it is the first time he sees blood mixed in with his spit.

  
  


Routine still does not change. Routine will not change. Hubert continues to get dressed for the day, walks down the same halls and squints against the rising sun, bids a good morning to Edelgard and stays by her side until they need to say goodnight.

It is only when the flower starts to get in the way of his duties does it begin to bother him. In meetings, he is beginning to take little breaks when he can no longer collect anymore petals into his handkerchief. He excuses himself from company to wipe the blood off his lips in secret. The pain in his lungs and the pain in his chest is nothing new anymore, while the ache in his heart is something he thinks he can get accustomed to. But timelines, deadlines, meetings where his focus must be perfect — he can not risk that.

So Hubert debates. He debates himself on the consequences of confessing to Ferdinand or letting the roots of the flower blossoming inside replace his veins.

"Ferdinand," Hubert says one day after a mid-week meeting.

He turns around in his seat, looks up. "Yes?"

"Meet me in my study this evening? I have something to discuss in private."

"Oh." Ferdinand's eyes grow round. "In private? Yes — of course."

"I will see you then."

Time from then on feels as if it slows, like a tangle caught in its line that must be undone before moving forward. He finds himself tapping his foot, watching where the sun is in the sky, and waiting for the familiar smell of baking bread and roasting meats from the kitchens that signal the approaching evening. There is always much work to be done, and Hubert would usually wish for more daylight, but not today.

Then, finally, the sun hangs low.

The moment he says goodnight to Edelgard is when his official duties come to a halt. As she walks away, he turns down the opposite end of the hall and towards his study. There is an unusual impatience in his steps that almost makes him trip over his own feet, but the thought that Ferdinand may already be waiting at his door makes him anxious. The wasted minutes they could be together — with how often the petals are falling, Hubert does not know how much time there is left.

His fears are thankfully unfounded when he reaches his study alone, and he makes use of the time clearing the desk of used cups by giving them to a servant passing by his door, and putting any scattered documents into neat stacks. He is usually not so messy, but he tires more easily these days.

When he cracks open the window to let the room breathe, there is a knocking at his door. Hubert leaves the window to answer.

“Ferdinand.”

“Good evening, Hubert.”

Ferdinand has taken off his heavy minister’s coat for something more casual. Hubert notices that he is wearing the vest he has complimented once before, the fabric a deep blue with golden buttons; it matches well with Ferdinand’s hair, and even in the fading sunlight that sentiment still holds true.

“Come in.”

Hubert steps to the side and closes the door behind them. Ferdinand sits down on the chair to the right of the desk, as expected, since it is the chair that he has sat in countless times as they worked shoulder-to-shoulder well into the night. On those nights they are too focused on work to speak, and the only sounds come from scratching quills and chirping crickets, the occasional pattering of rain against the rooftop. On those nights, Hubert is content to simply exist.

There is a sudden tightness in his throat, a scratching inside of Hubert’s chest. He wills down a cough as he sits on his chair and plays with a seam on his glove, counting down in his mind to distract from the pain.

“You wanted to speak with me in private?” Ferdinand asks.

“Yes,” Hubert responds. “It is more of a personal matter that I did not think was suitable to ask during official hours.”

Ferdinand sits up straighter in his chair. “I am willing to listen.”

"Well then, how deeply do you understand House Vestra's duties to the Empire?"

“Oh.” Ferdinand's brows furrow. "Well, I understand enough. At least on the surface, but what you do in regards to your… other duties are only speculation."

Hubert nods. "That is fine. Now, do you understand how these surface duties are performed? The preparations, the timelines?"

Ferdinand shakes his head. "Not entirely. It is not the domain of the prime minister to take on these affairs."

“Would you like to know?” Hubert asks. Ferdinand is silent, so he continues to speak. “I would like to show you, since I may need assistance. But this would have to be outside of normal work hours, so if it is too much of a burden I can find someone—”

“It won’t be a problem,” Ferdinand says. “I can do it.”

“You do not need to force yourself. I suspect some hesitation from your silence.”

“Not at all. I was simply confused by your question.” He brushes a lock of hair behind his ear. “I just thought you wanted to discuss something different.”

Hubert doesn’t try to guess. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint.”

There is still some light left on the horizon. Cool air makes its way into the study through the open window, and carries heavy the scent of applewood smoke. It will be dinner soon.

Ferdinand shifts in his seat. "Is that all you need to discuss that requires privacy? Nothing else?"

He wants to tell him all his secrets. He wants to apologize again for all the fights in their younger years. He wants to tell him, if he ever wants, there is space for Ferdinand on his bed and Hubert can not imagine anyone else there or he’d rather continue to sleep alone.

"That is all."

"I see." He fiddles with the top button on his vest. "Then I will take my leave."

After Ferdinand says goodnight and shuts the door, Hubert hurries to the open window.

  
  


Most nights, Hubert dreams of copper and maroon. The illness has made its way into head, he knows this, since he does not usually remember his dreams — but everyday those shifts of colour in his mind’s eye become more detailed, more vivid, and leaves him waking up feeling the thorns scratching inside his chest about a future he can not have.

In the morning he notices the petals have changed, and he stares longer than usual when they flutter out the window. He can’t find how to pass this for a trick of the eye, or how to excuse it as just the light of morning sun because when it lands in the shade the difference is obvious — they’re copper now, and it is even more apparent beside the older white petals that haven’t yet been swept away by the wind.

In his free time, Hubert writes his will.

When he is not teaching Ferdinand his duties, or when he is not busy looking for a successful replacement, Hubert looks through his personal effects. His most valuable possessions can go to Edelgard and she may sell them as she sees fit, to use the money for the Empire's budget. His collection of tomes and potions will go to the mage's school. He suggests that his study may be converted into a library to make use of the shelves. They may take his body and bury it, or donate it to science — whichever they deem most fitting once they learn of his illness — but his personal notes, his journals must be burnt.

There is a tin of unopened tea in his drawer, a forgotten gift he received from a foreign diplomat not too long ago. Imported, quite expensive, and worthless to him. When he dies, it will probably be discovered too late and discarded. Such a waste of something so fine, so before that can happen he begins to write: _for Ferdinand_.

He is looking rather pale, Edelgard mentions to him one day. Is everything fine?

“Nothing to concern yourself over, my lady.”

It is a beautiful evening — or so Ferdinand says — so they spend it outside in the garden at his behest. The hazy blues of a darkening sky is not upon them yet, and there is still enough light to make out the different shades in the greenery around them. The scent of applewood logs burning is in the air again.

In the middle of Hubert’s sentence, Ferdinand suddenly leans back in his chair and sighs. He begins tapping his finger on the small wooden table, and then turns his attention to stare at a bush.

“We discuss work too much these days,” Ferdinand says.

“That is the reason we are having so many meetings.”

“Yes, but I miss when we would just talk.”

Hubert smirks. “We are talking.”

“Oh hush, you know what I mean.” Ferdinand sighs again. “Give me ten minutes to think of something else, and I promise I will let you continue about your duties for the rest.”

“Fine, then. What would you like to talk about?” Hubert asks.

“Anything else,” Ferdinand responds. He looks at Hubert. “Tell me more about you.”

It’s growing again. He is spitting out more than just petals but entire flowers now too. The pain is no longer concentrated in only his chest and throat, and Hubert feels his veins stiffening as the roots begin to take over. Holding his quill is becoming troublesome, and his handwriting suffers; he learns to write slowly so his letters don’t tremble with him.

He keeps a vulnerary in his pocket for when the pain in his throat pulses into his ears. In meetings, he adds a few drops to his glass of water and takes a sip before he needs to speak. There is a fluttering in his lungs when he breathes, and Hubert suspects there are now more petals than he can retch.

But his dreams — maybe this is the illness’s way of showing sympathy (after all, it is born from love). They are the only relief he receives since they have become so vivid. He can see the curls of Ferdinand’s copper hair, the bow of his lips, and the amber of his eyes. Ferdinand’s voice replaces the ringing in his ears, saying words he wishes to hear while awake — confessions, plans for the future, sweet nothings. And when they touch, he can almost feel it against his own skin.

When he dies, he hopes it will be in his sleep.

Ferdinand is reviewing his notes. “And you go over the plans a week in advance with Edelgard for any last-minute changes?”

“Yes,” Hubert responds. He takes a sip from his glass of water. “And if there are changes they need to be implemented at once. Sometimes we learn things too late, and we must accommodate. It does not look well on the Empire to appear ignorant.”

He nods. “There is a lot more preparation than I expected before a meeting starts.”

“You must also memorize their names and correct pronunciation.”

“I see.” Ferdinand puts down the quill, and reads over his notes again. “You are quite the remarkable man to be able to handle all these affairs. And you did this all without help?”

“I have some, but there have been recent complications that require me to look for further assistance.”

“What complications?”

The concern on Ferdinand’s face means that he has said too much. Thankfully, Hubert has prepared an excuse for if he ever makes this slip-up. 

“I do not have many daytime subordinates, and as our empire’s influence grows we will continue to meet with more diplomats. I am training a few of my own to attend these meetings for when they begin to coincide. And, I am only asking for your assistance because I trust you.”

The concern is replaced with a small smile.

The moon is full tonight. Hubert wonders if he’ll make it to the next one.

It is the first time in a long while that Hubert is incapable of performing his duties.

He has missed the morning’s meeting, and knows his absence will have Edelgard coming to his bedroom to check on him — but he did not expect Ferdinand to appear alongside her. They seem equally distressed over his condition.

She puts a hand to his forehead. “Hubert, are you sick? Do you have a fever?”

“I’m sorry I could not inform anyone I would miss the meeting, I couldn’t make it to the door.”

“I’m not concerned about that,” she replies, “I just want to know if you’re feeling better. I’ll have a physician come check on you.”

“No.” Hubert forces down a cough, knows if he does it will contain blood. “I just need to rest.”

She looks close to tears. “No arguing with me on this. You look really bad right now."

"Edelgard is right.” Ferdinand’s firm tone of voice leaves room for no argument as well. "I’ll go send for someone immediately.”

“Then bring me Edwina.” She is a physician, one of his subordinates, and a contender for his replacement (they do not need to know this). “And give us privacy, please.”

When the physician arrives Hubert convinces her it is only a terrible fever, and forbids her from performing any thorough examination; if she learns of his illness, he knows she would need to tell Edelgard. She performs a small spell to help increase his stamina for the day, and he requests a few of the strongest vulnerary in her kit.

When Edelgard and Ferdinand are back in his bedroom, Hubert is sitting upright in bed instead of down in the covers and shaking.

“I am feeling better now, but she suggests I rest for a few days.”

“I agree,” Edelgard says. “I was so scared, You looked as if you were about to die.”

“You do not need to worry yourself, it is just a fever.”

Then Ferdinand speaks, “I have nothing important today. I’ll stay and make sure Hubert is attended to. Is that alright?”

“Of course.” Some of her worry seems to lighten. “Unfortunately I can’t stay much longer, but thank you for taking care of him, Ferdinand. I’ll come by later tonight.”

When Edelgard leaves, Ferdinand mentions something about grabbing more blankets and some tea before running out the room as well. When Hubert is alone he rids more flowers from his mouth, and settles back into his position in bed.

Hubert isn’t the type to wax poetics, but, as he gazes up into the star-filled sky he realizes how beautiful it truly is. He understands a little better, in this moment, why people have tried to capture what they see in language for hundreds of years.

His condition is getting harder to conceal.

It’s becoming unusual — noticeably so — the amount of times he needs to excuse himself from company, but there are too many flowers that can’t be hidden inside a handkerchief. Edelgard mentions again that he is looking rather pale.

He can no longer work well into the night, either finds himself unconscious at his desk or sometimes on his floor. It doesn’t help when his heart aches from every decline of Ferdinand’s invitation to work together; he can no longer keep awake, and soon Ferdinand stops asking altogether. The chair in his study remains empty. The rain patters down on the rooftop, but there is no sound of their scratching quills. More flowers.

Ferdinand asks for tea. Hubert can’t eat without throwing up a few hours later. He declines. More flowers.

Does he want to go riding? Or just for a walk, since he knows Hubert isn’t particularly fond of riding, he doesn’t mind either. But he can barely make it to his bedroom without gasping for breath, much less down a path or up a hill, so he makes an excuse and tries to ignore the hurt on Ferdinand’s face. More flowers.

Ferdinand is pulling at straws now, Hubert can tell, when he asks to speak after a meeting. Just five minutes of Hubert’s time to talk, nothing else. He wants to tell Ferdinand he isn’t avoiding him — he wishes he could use his last moments together, but life is cruel and this illness is proof that Hubert isn’t made for love.

But he can’t even speak right now, so he only shakes his head and uses as much energy as he can to walk down into a barely used hall, open the window, and throw up flowers and blood, and think of all the times he had to pull away.

He can’t breathe anymore.

Is this where he ends? Looking at the mess he’s creating by the stone wall in the dirt? He can’t say there is much regret, his affairs are all in order and he has the name of his successor written down in the documents he is leaving behind.

He only wishes that he would have died in his sleep, with Ferdinand there speaking into his ear and holding each other. His vision blurs.

“Hubert?” —exactly like that, Ferdinand’s voice and his hands around him— “ _Hubert_ —”

**.**

When he opens his eyes, Hubert is a little underwhelmed. This place is too familiar. Does the afterlife look like his bedroom? he wonders. But when his eyes land on Ferdinand, sitting on a chair by his bedside and engrossed in a book, he suddenly doesn’t mind.

And then he coughs, startling Ferdinand and bringing his attention to him.

“You’re awake,” Ferdinand says; his voice is shaking.

There’s something soft on his tongue and Hubert spits. A copper coloured petal lands on the blanket. He is confused. “Am I alive?”

“You are, but you’ve been asleep for three days. When I found you in the hallway you were just barely alive.” When Ferdinand sees the petal he no longer looks scared, but suddenly angry. He closes the book and pushes it from his lap to the floor. “What were you _thinking_? Hiding something like this? You were lucky Edwina started to keep an eye on you after your check up.”

He coughs again. It is only blood so he swallows it down and looks away to a shelf. “I did not want to risk the Empire over something so trivial.”

“Trivial? Hubert, you almost died. If I had been just a second later we could not have saved you.”

“You shouldn’t have. I already made preparations for my passing.”

Ferdinand shakes his head. “You are always at least two steps ahead, but this time you went in the wrong direction.”

“Hurtful.”

“Yes, well, not as much as it would hurt to have to bury you.”

Hubert coughs again and spits more petals onto the bed. “The Empire can function with one minister.”

“Always thinking about the Empire but never about yourself — your selflessness may be one of your best qualities, but it also makes you blind. Did you think I wanted to listen to you talk about your duties for hours? It _bores_ me, Hubert. But I only said yes because I wanted to spend more time with you. And now I know you were doing it because you are going to die? Over some ridiculous feelings?"

"I thought you would understand." Hubert tastes blood again. "We both agree that decisions must be made in absence of emotions. And this seemed the most sound route."

"Yes, I know we both share that sentiment but this is beyond ridiculous. This — no Hubert, do not open your mouth and just listen to me — this is not as well thought out as you normally are. You are more than just your duties. Edelgard will cry when you are dead. Her tears will map out a whole new river across Adrestia. She can shift your duties to someone else — same as you plan to do — but Hubert, you are irreplaceable as her closest friend. And have you thought about who you are to _me_?"

"Colleagues," Hubert replies without missing a beat.

The stare Ferdinand gives is not amused. "I do not know if you are daft on purpose or if you are truly this dense."

“It doesn’t matter,” Hubert says. He tries to get up from bed. The sharp pang in his chest makes him flinch. “Now you know of my illness, I’m destined to die.”

“Just confess, Hubert. Maybe they’ll feel the same way.”

“Highly unlikely.”

He only manages to sit up, and then Ferdinand moves from the chair to sit on the bed. He uses one hand to hold onto Hubert’s own to keep him in place, and the other to place upon his cheek, turning his head so they are facing each other.

“We found everything as you intended — your will, the confession. Hubert, why didn’t you say anything?”

“I looked at all the options, weighed all the consequences,” he confesses. “You will reject me, perhaps refuse to work together, and I do not want to jeopardize what we have all built."

"What about the one where I don't reject you?"

"The chances are so small that it could be counted as zero."

“Now I am sure you are truly just dense.” He kisses his cheek. "I love you, Hubert. Please do not die from believing anything else."

“I—” but then he is coughing. Ferdinand removes his hand from his cheek so he can look away, and he vomits a mass of petals.

He expects Ferdinand to move away after that, but he stays on the bed still holding his hand. And when he looks, Ferdinand doesn’t appear disgusted — his heart flutters in his chest. He vomits petals again.

“Tell me how you feel.”

“You are not lying?”

“I’ll say it again after you confess. First, get this out of your chest.”

“Lungs.”

“ _Hubert_.”

"I love you," he says quickly. The next words come a little easier. "I love you so deeply the feeling wouldn't stop growing. I love you so much it was spilling out from me since there isn't enough space in my heart to contain it. My love for you was literally killing me from the inside."

It's ugly — in theory the illness seems almost poetic, but the reality is disgusting. The petals coming up are covered in blood and a thick layer of spit, not romantic at all, and he wants to apologize for creating such a mess. But Ferdinand seems unaffected and brushes the petals further down the covers away from them both, ignoring the stains it creates on his hand and his clothes.

"Is that all you need to say?" Ferdinand asks, and Hubert shakes his head no. "Then keep speaking."

"I want to wake up to you. I want words that are understood only between us." He would feel embarrassed if he didn’t feel so much relief. Blood drips down the side of his mouth, more petals fall to the space between them. "I want you to feel as if — maybe one day — it is right for us to marry. Though I can not guarantee I will be a great husband, I will try every day to deserve you."

Ferdinand laughs. “Hubert, I already want to spend my life with you.”

It’s not just petals this time, but there are flowers. And after the flowers, there is the stem he has to pull out from his throat. Ferdinand — he doesn’t move away, allows Hubert to squeeze his hand through the pain and continues to brush away the debris building on the covers. He’s whispering to him, that he’s thankful for the confession, he’s in love too, he wants a future together. Everything he has been dreaming of, Hubert is hearing while awake and if it wasn’t the pain it would be Ferdinand’s words making his head spin.

After the stem and thorns and roots leave Hubert’s lungs, one final cough has a cracked seed fall out from his mouth. He takes in a few deep breaths, and his lungs feel clean for the first time in months.

Ferdinand turns his face toward him, and kisses Hubert on the lips despite the blood there. “I did not know I was saving your life at the time, but I was afraid I would never get the chance to tell you, so I kept whispering in your ear that I love you, Hubert. I don’t want you to die. But you were unconscious, so you could not truly grasp my words.”

Ferdinand pulls out a cloth from his pocket and uses it to gently wipe down Hubert’s mouth. Then, he slowly removes himself from the bed and bundles up the covers into his arms. Thankfully, there is a second unsoiled blanket underneath to keep Hubert warm.

“Where are you going?” Hubert asks. His voice is still raspy. It’s a feeling he has taken for granted, being able to speak without shortness of breath.

“I am simply re-making your bed,” Ferdinand replies, and then he walks out the door.

There is a cup of water on his bedside table that he drinks from, and also uses it to cleanse the taste of blood from his mouth. Afterward, Hubert looks out the window — the sun is setting, appearing as a golden strip in the horizon and painting the bottom of the clouds orange.

He inhales deeply once more, enjoying the experience of being able to breathe again.

Ferdinand is gone for some time, long enough that it is finally night and the stars begin to dot the sky, and Hubert wonders if he is even coming back.

He is on the edge of sleep when the door opens again, and Ferdinand is back with a clean cover and wearing a new shirt. He uses the light from the hallway to place the cover over Hubert and then he closes the door, leaving them in near darkness. When his eyes adjust, he can see Ferdinand standing by the edge of the bed.

“Is everything alright?” Hubert asks.

“Can I stay here for tonight?”

Hubert wants to laugh at the question, since the answer is obvious, but he is still too weak. So he moves from the middle of the bed to the side, and feels Ferdinand crawling under the covers with him. As soon as they are both settled into bed, Hubert feels a hand on his chest and Ferdinand shifts closer.

“Thank you for wanting to stay.” Hubert adds quietly, “I’m sorry for causing so much trouble.”

There’s a small huff from Ferdinand. “You can make it up to me later.”

“For the rest of my life, I will.”

They are given only a few minutes of silence in each other’s company when there’s a thrumming against the rooftop. When he looks out the window, the view of the stars are obscured by streaks on the glass.

“It’s raining,” Ferdinand whispers.

Hubert closes his eyes, listens to the rain falling outside. He is so very tired. Tonight when he sleeps, he will not remember his dream, but it’s alright — he knows he will wake up to Ferdinand beside him.

“It is.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for giving this a shot!


End file.
